


Faðir

by kamaloca



Category: Norse Mythology, Thor (2011), Thor (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamaloca/pseuds/kamaloca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Loki's children and the little known tales of how he visited them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For the children

They were taken out of his hands, one by one. First was his son Fenrir the wolf. He screamed and he wept as the guards held him back with their blades to his neck. Frigga, the dear kind mother tried to soothe Loki's tears as she held back her own. Loki did not care what those who had gathered around in the courtyard would think of his actions, what they would think of him on his knees weeping like a mother who's son was taken from her arms and lead to war by a roofless king. Loki cried in Frigga's arms as she watched Fenrir lead into the distance, they were both helpless. 

They all knew of Fenrir's fate, except the wolf himself. They tried to keep their plans well hidden from Loki but he heard it all. He heard Odin, Tyr, Thor and Bladr discuss the imprisoment of his son. Loki tried to warn Fenrir, he wanted to tell him to run, to run away as fast and as far out of Odin's reach. But it was all too late. The wolf was bound with unbreakable chains and a sword was placed into his mouth preventing him from calling to his father. 

As the wolf had grown in the palace walls the gods grew afraid of the wolf. The wolf was indeed unique in his size and fierceness and some what resembled his father in the chaos that he created. The gods feared that soon he would murder and they would not be able to slay the beast. The gods were too cautious, the wolf meant no harm, he was only a child and a mischievous one. They may as well have bound all their warriors whom were no less harmless than the wolf. They were the ones who deserved to be bound, shameless filthy beasts! 

Soon after, Loki's second son was born. A serpent he was. He was named Jörmungandr, and he grew wide and long. Loki loved him dearly and did everything in his power for the serpent to grow gentle and kind. Despite doing so the Asgardians saw him as a threat. Soon the serpent grew too wide for the corridors to slither through. And long he grew, with ease he could incircle the palace twice over with his scaly coils. 

Odin casted him away, he threw Jörmungandr into the Midgardian seas where he coiled around the earth, biting down onto his own tail. And so he became known as the Midgardian serpent, there he will lay until Ragnarök comes. 

Loki cried and called for his second son as he did for his first. He pleaded Odin not to cast away Jörmungandr, to show his mercy and kindness. But Odin turned away with the words that he already showed enough mercy towards the serpent. His mercy was in that he merely casted away and bound the serpent but did not kill him.

Then Loki's daughter was born. Half dead she was. Life nourished on one side and dead on the other. Hel was no different from any other child, except for the grim mood that possessed her, but who could blame her. She received cold glares for her half dead vessel. She was an outcast, just like her father. Hel grew mirroring her father at heart. 

Just like Loki's first two children she was casted away. She was brought to the underworld, it was a world where the dead flourished. Hel was seated upon the throne of bones and a crown was placed upon her head. And so the realm of the dead came to be known as Helheim where the half dead queen ruled. She laughed at the gods, they thought that she would be bound, scared and broken. How foolish they were, they gave her power and more reasons to be feard of. 

The day that Hel was dragged away from her fathers arms, leaving him on the brink of tears she whispered to him, "Do not weep for me father, we will see each other again. One day you will lead an army against those who set me and my brothers apart from you." With those words she let herself be lead away. Loki did not weep, just as his daughter asked him to and waited for the day that they would meet again.

It was a little known fact at that time in Asgard that Fenrir was not Loki's first son. For was his first son was not casted away but left to serve Odin as his royal steed. Loki's first child was indeed a horse and a unique one too. The stalion was named Sleipnir, he was as black as the night and possessed eight legs. He was faster than the wind and could gallop between the nine realms without the need of the biofrost. 

When Loki brought Sleipnir to his father as a gift he drank meed until his throat was raw and scorched. Although his son was a beast he cared deeply for him, but there was shame with guilt. Loki knew that if anyone found out the truth behind the magnificent steed there will be humiliation to his name, and so the bitter truth was hidden away.


	2. The Fenris Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to re-edit this chapter because seriously, this is fucking ridiculous. 
> 
> Extra info: (incase anyone is still confused) 
> 
> The first chapter creates the basic outline of Loki's children and their faits, but I have decided to ignore their mothers/father as some details are still not quiet clear and I didn't want to waffel on with lies. The last three chapters depict my idea of Loki's secret reunions with his children. As some may have notice, I have completely ignored the existence of Narfi and Vali. I know about their mother and their faits too. But their little tale may be mentioned in a possible sequel.
> 
> But, the problem is, the sequel for which I already have ideas for involves the Avengers plot, without it, the plot for the fic will be the plain, old, grey and overused. This fic is mythology centered, so the when the Avengers and norse myth plots crash, everything will make zilch sense.
> 
> So maybe, just maybe.
> 
> Mean while, feast your poor eyes on my horrid writing. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The endless days and nights of battles were over. He remembers the scenery of the battles well. The rivers were no longer glass clear, they were streamed with red, they smelled and tasted of rust and decay. The dead no longer floated atop the water but sank to the bottom where the fish would nib at the flesh. The flat lands were clad with metal by the end, those who walked or ran across the fields their feet would slip and slide as the soil was sleek with rotting flesh. No one could tell between night and day, the sky was always gray and painted with the orange light from the fires soldiers lit. Loki remembers the days well. He remembers every hour he spent in the lands where the battles raged.

Loki remembered every steel blade his own blade had hit, every wound he made and felt, every life he took away. There was never a moment to collapse onto his knees and clutch onto his wounds. Every moment decided his fate and the fate of the nine realms. Specifically he remembered a sword biting its way through his flesh into his stomach, how the pain crawled through his body. Loki slipped off the blade and fell to the ground. He was paralyzed with pain, every time Loki tried to pull himself up pain would surge through his body and he would collapse back onto the damp grass. Weak and helpless he lied there. He watched the grey sky and the brewing storm, then the lightning came to life. In a way, it was a pleasant sight, it meant his brother was still alive and the battle may still be won by the Asgardians. 

In the end, Gods of Vanheim did not claim their victory.

When Loki awoke in the empty scarlet tent, still in his shattered armour, he did not call out. He smiled and whispered a spell, a plea for help to his powers that bend laws of nature to his will. He felt the gentle tendrils of magic wrap themselves around him and carry him away into far lands, beyond the aftermath of the battle. When he reached his desired destination Loki fell with a soft thump onto cold damp grass which smelled of old woods and clear waters. No blood, no steel, no death and no rage. It was a spring night on Midgard, calm and silent.

Calm is all Loki needed. He opened his eyes and gazed at the skys and smiled. The sky above was clear and stars displayed their fair lights above, like the finest diamonds. He rolled over and buried himself in the long grasses filled with wild flowers. Like a child he began to laugh, like a wildling he rolled in the grasses. Loki is alive, he is here and he deserves the breath of clear air. Loki's laughter crackled like the fires in the cold winter nights, it becomes a hysteric laugh that soon tames into a gentle rumble like a cats purr.

Eventually Loki stands and he feels free and reborn. Cleansed from war he left behind. War was never Loki's prime drive in life. His brothers always felt strong, and untamed like a pack of wild wolves during battle. But all Loki wished to do was stand back and watch the chaos unfold, never be the part of it. He loved chaos, he loved to watch the energy seep away from it. In the tamed moment of calm Loki wanted to scream and to thrash, to break bones and to spill blood. When chaos drove him to the brim of sanity eventually he would collapse and lie there as still as stone. During battle all Loki wanted was to fall. He could never explain it, why must he balance the chaos and the peace inside his mind and around him. 

Loki watched the stars and the moon above. He carried on smiling in their light. He knew of another presence besides his own. There is something lurking in the shadows, watching and waiting. Loki was not sure if the gliding shadows meant any harm, so he stood and waited until they decided to appear before him so he could decide what to make of them. He could hear two sets of four paws patter against the damp soil, the creatures were making their way closer to him.

It was a pair of wolves who stopped infront of him. They were both covered in grey brown shaggy fur. Both were bony and weary. They kept their amber eyes on him, and from their gazes told Loki they meant no danger, they searched for no battle. Soundly they came closer to him and sniffed at his clothes. Loki held out his hands to show he was weaponless, and just liked them searched for no battle. One of the wolves licked his left hand and whined calmly. The wolf tugged him by the sleeve the trotted back into the woods with the second wolf. Just before merging with the shadows the wolves looked back at Loki then stalked away. Loki took it as a invitation to follow, and so he did.

They ranged through the woods, trotted across meadows and clambered upon boulders. Each time the distance between the God and the wolves became too large the wolves would stop and wait for the God to shorten the distance. Finally, when they ranged across a hill side the wolves stopped just before they reached the very top. Even when Loki was right by their side they did not go any further. Loki noticed that they were watching something in the clearing, he followed their gaze. Where the hilltop flattened and the trees ended a figure laid. It was not human, and it was unaturally large for any animal. Loki looked back to the wolves for further guidance but they already disappeared in the shadows. Loki noticed that the area was familiar to him, like a misty memory of a dream. Something distant, something forbidden.

The God walked out onto the clearing from the woods and made his way towards the figure. He noticed that the creatures breaths were uneven, some shallow and some were deep, the beast was in pain. Once Loki was only a thew feet away from the creature he began to recognise it. The beast was a wolf, a incredibly large one at that. A name slipped between Lokis lips: "Fenrir." It was his son. The beast who towered over any other wolf of his kin or a bear who could tear apart any man with the sway of his paw.

It has been so long. Centuries passed since the day Tyr bound Fenrir and placed a boulder atop the beast. Loki could remember how Fenrir fought against the bindings of the seemingly fragile ribbons. How he ground against the blade placed between his jaws, and how blood flowed from his wounds. Eventually Fenrir gave up, his strengths became frail and he saw no escape. Loki did try to free his son, but he only caused the wolf more pain. Eventually he became forbidden from visiting his son and soon all his hopes were lost. 

Loki collapsed before Fenrir. His hands shook as he placed them his sons fur. The wolf whined but welcomed the touch. Its large yellow eyes followed his fathers every movement.

"I am ever so sorry my son. I am sorry. How could I ever let this happen to you. I am sorry, I am a fool." Loki murmured as he began healing Fenrir. There were bleeding, burning gashes where the chains had gnarled into the wolfs flesh. There was still blood dripping from between Fenrir's jaws where the blade drove into the wolf's gums. Soon all the wounds were gone and the wolf's breath became steady and even. Fenrir lifted his large head of the grass and placed it in his fathers lap who ran his spidery fingers through the grey thick fur.

The father and son were at peace now, no words were needed between the God and the giant wolf to explain themselves. They were both at peace. The God escaped the war and the wolf escaped his prison. Peace has come for now.


	3. The Midgardian Serpent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for making Loki seem as such a wonderful father. I began to write this fic when I had some severe 'Daddy Issues', and I just needed a father figure of some sort to comfort myself.  
> In truth, Loki is no better of a father than Odin (well maybe he did not hurt his children, but ya know), but I still portrayed him in this strange way.
> 
> Maybe people will see a different side to Loki in this chapter, the weak and slightly awkward side to him that is sometimes depicted in the comics.

Familiar summer constellations were displayed above in the sky, as if painted by the hand of a master. The stars were never quiet still, but they were always frozen in the memories of those who dared to look up at the abyss of diamond lights. A lone God looked above and watched worlds move by. His marble face was illuminated by a large fire, spitting sparks and hissing once it touched moisture. The rusty sweet smell plagued Loki's lungs. It chocked him, it polluted his mind. But as a statue, he looked down into the flames and watched a gangly, uneven carcass burn. 

In the distance, the sounds of laughing, singing reached the God. The voices belonged to the villagers that were saved from the mocking replica of a prideful dragon. This was a monstrosity, a abomination. When the hulking creature emerged from the mirky green lake waters, Loki only felt pity. The creature had rotting green and yellow tusks, broken tallons, and dim green scales that rotted from its skin. He regretted not giving the creature a quick death, but he did not regret convincing Thor and Sif into saving villagers from a pestering creature. Loki could no longer look at the heat cracked skull without still seeing the milky blind eyes, so he averted his gaze to the surroundings. 

This night, there was no wind, not a single breezed had crawled over the long grasses or the leaves on the trees. The world seemed to have been frozen in time. The stillness made it seem as if the green goddess had paused just for a moment in awe to admire her creation. To admire the world as it is. Fruits had grown, tears had been wept, drinks had been brewed, lives had passed, and children had been born and grown. But nature never pauses.

The fire God drew his eyes back to the fire, to the gift that he had given to the mortal world. The sly Loki gave the humanity the potential to give life with the warmth and to take it away with the scorching flames. This was a sword, a gift to protect the innocents and the very weapon that can take those lives away. It is left up to the mortals how they use it.

Loki held his metal clad arm in the fire, he played with the flecks of fire, and let them escape through the gaps of his fingers. The flames did not hurt Loki, but they licked his skin like the lapping tongues of dogs, cleaning and admiring the hand that feeds. Loki held his arm there, admiring his gift, with a small smile flickering on his lips. In the Gods pale green eyes the fire seemed to have a life of it own, it was more devious, dangerous and brighter. 

When the last fire began to burnout, Loki kicked dirt over the last of the dying flame that danced over the charcoaled wood and bone. The God began to plough his way through the long grass and the wild flowers towards the outskirts of the night forest. The darkness of the wood had blinded the God, but he still walked forward with confidence and no fear of what skulks in the shadows. 

In the dark, Lokis heart began to beat to the sound of the beating drums, played by what the mortals fear but cannot see, as their eyes are yet too young and still blind. The wild songs are sang, without words and without rhythm. The drumming was guiding, wild and teasing. It calls from the shadows, it wants the wanderers to join the feral dance. Loki wants to follow the music of the small folk, like a child without fear and only curiosity, he wants to be honored by their songs. But he only steps with the footing of the mid summer dance and shakes away the call of the drums who's sounds fail to seduce their way into his veins.

The skeletal trees began to lessen and large, wide oaks began to sprout out from the ground. Their branches were thick, and their roots were overspilling from the earth, thick as the branches and pulsing with life. On the ground less grass grew except for small yellowing patches of grass and ugly weeds. There were no birds nesting in the branches and chirping their songs, there was only silence. 

As a spooked animal Loki stepped onto the bold ground, his gaze dancing over the surfaces. His steps became measured and careful. The abrupt rasping sound of coughing startled the cautious God who by instinct reached for his blade, the dirk(1) on his belt. Loki searched for the source of the sound and found a hunched black figure at the foot of an oaks roots, huddled despite the summer warmth. Stalking closer, Loki bent into a crouch. 

"Who walks there?" The voice was rough, rasped but feminine, it belonged to an aged woman. 

"No one that you should fear of." Loki said softly.

"Your name, young fawn." The woman croaked, "Give me your name."

"Loki, but I doubt you will know of it."

"Oh, I know of it, young fawn." The croan looked up, "I know of it." The woman's face was shrivelled like badly warn leather. Her grey hair fell in greasy tendrils and tangled in her black or brown rags. Both of the croan's eyes were milky, blind. "I have been waiting for you."

"You have? For how long, I hate to make people wait." The God asked, curiously.

"Since I was a maiden, since I became a mother, and since I am now a croan. It doesn't matter."(2)

"What does matter then, if not me being rude to you."

The woman broke out into a cackle that soon merged into a cough. "You are a clever little fawn. I have something to tell you, something of great importance to only you."

The Gods curiosity grew. "What is it? Tell me."

"Your son waits for you, at the sea."

Loki froze, his gaze became scrutinizing, harsh. "Which son do you speak of, and how do you know of this?"

"The son that holds this world together, of course! I know what I only know, it is of very little importance." The woman croaked away, her cracked lips began to form a crooked smile. 

"Then where do I go, to find him?"

"To the west, the far, far west, where the great seas beat against the earth."

Standing, the God looked back onto the strange woman and twisted around on the heels of his boots and began to stalk away. Not that far he managed to go the woman called after him again. "You have very little love in your heart, young fawn. I hope that is not what your children grew up knowing."

Lokis grip tightened on the handle of his dirk. The leather was warn and welcoming and the blade was sharp. "You shouldn't speak of things that you do not know."

"But I do know!"

Leisurely Loki strode back to the huddle woman. His blade now unsheathed and hidden under his cloak, hiding the fait of the blinded creature. He crouched closely his eyes locked on the critter with a loathing glare. "You have a very loose tongue, and it does not show your wisdom." With a softly spoken voice Loki said. The dirk that drawn out from beneath Lokis cloak and rested the point under the woman's jugular, "Only your idiocy." The blade was thrusted into the flesh.

As the warm tendrils of scarlet dripped down Lokis arm and the weight of the corpse slumped down on him, Loki could for once admit without disgust that he envied the mortal race. They had so little time to live. The thing that lied dead in the Gods arms could have been considered a child amongst the immortals, but here it was considered an elder. The humans have yet so much to learn and all the discovers must be made by them on their own, no help, no encouragement. They hunger for wisdom and they have such a limited time. Unlike the mortals, Loki can learn and discover with no haste, he has the words of the ancient to learn from and the words of the wisest. 

The dead weight was pushed off by Loki onto the ground and he wiped off the stains on the dirk onto the moss, like wiping a memory of the kill onto his sleeve. The God pushed the bloody fingers into his mouth and sucked on them, swirling the sweet taste around his mouth as he strode away into the woods. The drumming still chased the God as he walked but now it seemed to be dimmer, almost fearful, or maybe the fresh blood soaking into the soil became its new attraction. 

The fire God finally began to exit the forest, before him opened a new view. It was a large meadow, with small mounds rising from the ground and jagged rocks cutting out from the soil. Amidst the grass was a large silver mirror pool, without a ripple or a flaw. There were three horses in the meadow, two black and one auburn , all three were grazing on the tough long grass. Loki made his way towards the auburn horse. The animal raised its head to see its rider and began to move forth to meet Loki half way.

Once the rider and the animal greeted one another Loki climbed onto the saddle and dug his heels into the horses side. They rode out with a punishing pace, as if wolves were biting at the horses ankles, gaining on it moment by moment. The wind whipped and tossed Loki in the saddle that he was forced to hide his face against the neck of the beast, closing his eyes and trusting the wise creature to find its way west. 

The world around passed by in a blur of colours and the hours of the day pulled by in a breath. The God only looked up when he felt the horse below him slow down, heavily breathing and swaying on its legs. With confused and unadjusted pale green eyes Loki observed the surroundings. Above the sky was grey, polluted with thick blankets of clouds, and below was a expanse of green and grey salted waters of the ocean. The sea seemed to be boiling, it was frothing and raging below the grey cliff face. The waves gnarled and clawed at the warn out grey rock, reaching its way up higher and higher, reaching for the rider on the thin layer of earth above. 

Loki gently nudged the horses sides with his heels, and slowly he rode on, never keeping his eyes off the sea below. Hidden in the cliff face he saw a shadowed stone stairs, cut into the rock by human hands. The stairs led down to a stone platform which was lapped on by the sea, the waves stroked and licked at the surface but never reached too far. Quickly, Loki dismounted and began to make his way down the stoney stairs, constantly clinging onto the stone to not be swept away by the harsh cold winds. With slow progress Loki finally reached the flat platform of stone and he walked across it with tired legs and vulnrable eyes. The God found nothing on the horizon. 

With weary footing Loki attempted to make his way to a large mound of rounded rocks, covered in swept in sea weed, but it mattered little to him. Once the rock mound was in reach Loki's legs gave out from under him. The God crawled closer to where he could hide away from the wind and the sea spray, and when all his energy finally left him, not even the lapping of the sea on his boots concerned him. 

It may have been Loki's hallucinations, but he felt against his back the rocks move. Slithering under him, almost gently, trying not to disturb him. Loki shifted a little to look over his shoulder and a cold shiver ran down his skin as he saw that the rock was indeed shifting. It was slowly pulling back, down into the water until not an inch of it was visible. The God seemed to have lost the ability of movement. Then, another wave erupted, but with this one Loki scrambled up onto his legs and pressed his back against the cliff face. His eyes darted back to the water. The large rock was bobbing out from the water, just a thew inches of the top of it were visible. Slowly, it began to move back towards the stone platform.

Soon, the rock turned into a large serpentine face, it was enormous. Each scale could have been equal to a shield for a grown man, and the teeth that hung down from beneath the green lips were larger than any longsword there was. The serpents eyes were the colour of fire, a turmoil of yellow, orange and red. The pupils were just tiny black vertical slits that were locked on the collapsed God. The serpent pushed itself up closer to the tiny figure. 

Loki stared at the slithering mountain with a blank gaze. Slowly, he reached out his gloved hand towards the scaly nose, reluctant to touch it in the fear that the image will be gone like a breath of mist. But when the Gods hand touched a solid form he froze in place, unable to rip his eyes away from the flame filled ones. 

"Loki!" It was a shrill of a woman's voice that made Loki break away from the contact. 

"Silvertongue! Show yourself!" It was Sif, some impossible way she managed to track down Lokis trail and she had found him. "Loki!" Loki was too petrified to move, to tell his son to return to the seas. 

The footsteps were already clacking against the stone footsteps, it was only a miracle that Sif had no yet noticed the the great mound of rock which was in fact a serpent. But then the gasp broke the miracle. A blade was drawn out and the footing became more careful. 

"Is this why you decided to travel to Midgard, Loki? To break a promise that you made to your father?" Sif began to throw accusations. 

A bitter laugh rolled from Lokis throat. Not even for a moment did he look at the warrior, he savoured the chance of looking up at his son. "Would you deny such a thing to a father? Visiting his child?" 

"Just answer me Loki, did you come here to see Jörmungandr, or to save innocent lives?"

"At first, I came to this miserable world to give you and my brother glory, but I travelled to the west to see a lost child. Does that answer your question?" Loki replied patiently as he traced the softer scales on the snakes muzzle. 

Before the warrior could answer, thunderous hoof beats sounded. Thors black stallion had arrived and the God on its back. There was no more hiding, and there was little that Loki could do. The serpent began to slither back into the ocean, reluctant to go, but knowing the trouble that he dragged his father into by his appearance. 

"Do not worry, lady Sif. There is no need to twist your tongue, Heimdall has already seen all that there is to see." The fire God hissed solemnly. 

A blade was sheathed again with a rough thrust. "I may not trust a word you say Liesmith, I do not hold my faith in your honesty, but I hold trust in what I see." 

Loki glanced up at Sif as he stood from the stoney surface. He expected no mercy from Sif, neither did he expect this. 

"I will hold my tongue, but I doubt that it will do much justice for you."

The fire God glared at the warrior goddess who strode away from him, her dark blue cloak flapping in the wind and the chain mail clacked as the links hit against each other. The goddess was no mother, she knew little of children and she had little love for Loki, but she had shown an act of mercy towards a child and his father. This was a strange miracle and Loki did little to question it, he was afraid to distill the strange tendrils of magic behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) A dirk is a small blade like a dagger or a knife.  
> (2) This is a small reference to the Mother Goddess of the Wicca. It would've made more sense if it was winter, since the Goddess becomes the crone and the Father God turns into the ruler of the underworld during winter. But I decided to keep this image of her as a crooked old hag. There is a slightly deeper meaning to why she is placed into this fic.


	4. The Goddess of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forced myself to listen to terrible pagan music to scrape up some inspiration. Lords above do they not know how to create music. 
> 
> This is going to be rather short, so I am sorry.
> 
> I managed to portray Thor as the brother that I admire him to be. I know people say that he is careless, rash, dumb and unjust. But I see him not as the dimmest nor the brightest, the bravest and the kindest. He is a brother that anyone would deserve. 
> 
> The story is still unfinished. The sequel has still yet to come.

The human race has very little control over magic. The Gods had learnt from the past, the ones that gifted the mortals with the craft of magic. Those who were blessed with the gift used it for selfish and vain deeds. The mortals are young, and have little to live, and the short time that they are given seems to be never enough for them to learn to tame their needs. 

In the past chaos had been created and innocent blood had been spilt, so much that even the Gods made an exception to interfere in Midgard's order. When the Gods had left they also left behind the scriptures for those who had the will that would lead them to the mysterious crafts. 

Gods learn to regret once again and they look down with their loathing gazes. 

A young man on Midgard hunted for knowledge of the ancient crafts. He made sacrifices and submitted himself to masters of the secret knowledge. The Gods would watch him with curiosity as the mortal strived and hungered for more, how he dedicated himself in the search of these texts and words. Now the mortal has found all that he wanted and that he needed to satisfy his needs.

Dark words were used in the mortals incantations. As he drew the runes and spoke his words, his intent trouble the Gods. The man raised his hands to the sky and cried out to the strange creatures of the stars and the voids that pestered Yggdrasil and the pained the noble tree. 

Storms drew from the sea towards the coast where the man stood. Fury crawled into the winds, picking up their fierceness and guiding them further. Where the clouds darkened the winds collected and a monstrous mass began to emerge from the sky. A giant, a snake, a monster and a demon. The flesh of the monster writhed and tossed its giants mass in the clouds. Lightning crackled and hurricanes roared.  

The mage never lived to see his creation, neither did he lived to set fear into the hearts of kings that would pass their kingdoms into his hands, as he, himself, set fear too deep into his heart and died from fright. 

Now in Asgard the All-Father urged on the only young warriors that he could trust with this task: his sons. One reluctant, feeling no pity for Midgard, and the other too eager. But both saw the consequences what this abomination would bring. So the thunder God and the trickster left their warm hearths to save those they vowed to protect. 

From the shores Loki watched the creature the mortal mage called upon, he was struck with horror and dread. The winds pulled and tossed him, only his inhuman strength kept him on the ground. Beside Loki, his brother, Thor, stood and watched not knowing what to do either. His hand clutched the handle of mjolnir, but he knew that calling upon the storms that served him will do little good.  

Beneath the sky serpent the storm that became a hurricane became a cyclone of monstrous proportions. It twists and whirls taking up the ocean waters up inside of it and another burst of lightning crackle inside of it.  

A devious smirk appears of Thor's face and he pulls his brother close so his words were not lost, and he says: 'Set the monster alight.' 

Loki was given little time to think before he was swept away off his feet and the two brothers took to the air. But a spark of understanding appeared in Loki's mind before he crashed on the monsters back and he understood what Thor intended. 

On the moving, slime sleeked, scaly back Loki fell and clung onto the scales so he would not fall further. He scrambled onto his feet and searched for Thor in the storm drawn horizon, there he saw him. The snakes head had appeared from the clouds and instantly Thor attacked. From the mallet lightning crashed onto the sky serpents head which then hissed and snapped its jaws in pain. 

Loki raised his hands to the sky, calling the life and energy of the lightning to his commands. He felt the energy surge to his palms, now it only waited for his command. It was almost too late as the serpent noticed Loki on its back and it darted to attack. But before the jaws could close on the trickster, Loki threw all the energy of the lightning, and some of his own, into the giants scaled body. 

As the serpent convulsed in pain its body snapped and tossed in the air. It was only misfortune that the cyclone rage beneath Loki, and that was where he fell. Into the black gloom of the cyclone he fell and Thor's cry of his name reached him as he entered the darkness. But as Loki dropped into the abyss no wind swept him away. There was the wailing of the hurricane, but there was only calm around the trickster God.

Loki had fallen into the eye of the cyclone. It was a haven of calm and darkness. No cry escaped Loki's lips, he only watched as the light from above became further and further out of his reach and how the sparks of lightning illuminated this whistling prison. 

The fall seemed to have become endless, but the God did not use the time to invoke a spell, to pull him away from his darkening fate. He only waited for the water to claim him. And there it was. The ice cold waters grasped him and like a storm harshened mother, the water pulled him in, pushing all the air of his lungs in a crushing embrace. Loki did not fight what was to come. Drained of power and will, Loki let himself sink deeper into the dark.  

The winds had calmed and the monster was defeated. The brother was mourned and the servants of Odin, the Valkyrie, were sent down from the heavens to collect the soul of a fallen warrior, but the heavenly warriors had little idea of who's soul they will encounter. When the Valkyrie called upon the spirit to emerge from the depths, the Valkyrie shared a moment of shock, fear and dread. 

The Valkyrie carried the tricksters spirit in their arms, they did not carry it to the halls of Valhalla, but they travelled further into the darker realms where the Niflheim's winds scraped the gentle flesh with their cold talons. Further the Valkyrie went, towards the dark realm that lied inside the empty realm of ice. Only did they stop when they reached the realm of the dead, where the All-Fathers servants would look down onto the spirits of the mortals with pity. 

Once the temple of the Goddess of Death was reached the Valkyrie set the spirit gently on the ground. One of the servants knelt at the Gods remaining strand of life and she placed her palm over Loki's closed eyes. 

'Awake ye spirit, your judgement is not finished.' The Valkyrie whispered, and beneath her palm the God shifted and his lashes brushed against the Valkyrie's skin. 

Like the whisper of the wind the Valkyrie left into the mysterious air of the realm where they would wisp away to lead the souls of fallen warriors to Valhalla. 

On the ground before the temple, Loki's spirit awoke. He glared up into the empty grey sky, then he shifted and with careful movements he stood. Lacking in emotions or reactions the God observed the temple before him. Loki studied the grey stone carved walls and the stories that they depicted, then he moved towards the iron clad wooden doors and with ease he pushed them apart.  

A grand hall lied inside the temple. Grey and gloom just as the outside. Wide and empty with black walls and marble floors. There were no torches as the morning light falling through the tall windows still served as the guide. In here does the hidden council whisper their advise to the Goddess' of Death, where she decides the fate of the fallen. 

The God enters the hall, with gentle steps and curious eyes. In the dark, where the day light does not reach stands the throne. Made of bone, human and other, black marble and drying wax from the candle stumps. On the throne the Goddess sits. As dark as the shadows dressed in her black lace and leathers. A crown sits on Hel's brow, of gold and jewels it is made. Under the over hanging black hair her face hides. The life nourished side of the Goddess is pale and as perfect as marble, but the other is like beaten leather, slowly decaying and falling apart. 

The Goddess raises her noble face and calls out into the hall, 'Who comes forth?'

'Loki Liesmith, whom you may call father.' Without pausing his step, Loki replies. 

'Has Ragnarök come?' With a gentled voice Hel asks. 

'No, still future has to come.' Loki now stands at the foot of the throne and looks up at his daughter, the queen of this unhallowed realm. 

'Then you have come early father. Go back to the Æsir, you have no place here.'

'Misfortune has come my way. I am dead you see. I have died in battle but the Valkyrie have brought me to you.' Loki explained.

'It seems that my memory has been rotting away too. It has ben centuries since I caught the servants of All-Father in my traps and commanded them to bring my father to me, as soon as they catch him.' 

'And now I have come. But no happiness do I see on my daughters face.' As the moment that Loki entered the hall, did Hel's stone cold face not change. 

'I thought better of you father. I hope to see you sooner. I hoped that you would not let my youth rot away here.' Hel hissed as the God standing at her feet. Her one seeing eye frozen on her father's figure. 

'Would you ever forgive me?' Loki pleaded his daughter.

'When I told you that we will reunite when Ragnarök comes I hoped that you would not let me wait so long. But I cannot deny, I love you father and I feel joy from seeing you again.' Hel's cold expression was broken by a overjoyed smile. She stood from her throne and stepped down to her father, clutching onto his hands. 'Come father, take the seat upon my throne.'  

'Why would I take place on your throne?' In dismay, Loki wondered. 

'You are a king to come, denied of a throne and a crown.' Hel guided Loki to the throne and seated him on the throne of bones. 'Please father, sing me a song.' Hel took the space at her fathers feet and she let her head rest of the God's lap. 

'Which one?' Loki asked as he ran his fingers through Hel's hair. 

'Sing me of what was and what is to come father, sing of the ones that remember.' Hel pleaded. 

_'We are the ones who remember_  
 _the hearth-fires that long have been cold,_  
 _the kings of the land, who with generous hand_  
 _gave forth treasures of silver and gold;_  
 _the heroes most mighty, most eager for fame,_  
 _who stood on the field when the battle-day came,_  
 _who fought for their folk and who slew and were slain --_  
 _and we are the ones who remember. . .'_

Loki began his song, his words gentle and soothing as a lullaby. The God soothed his daughter with the gentle tune that he doubted Hel caught a whisper of during the ruling of the underworld. 

_'We are the ones who remember_  
 _tales that tell of the time that shall be,_  
 _when a host, bold and fell, sails a ship out of Hel,_  
 _and a Wolf breaks his chains and runs free._  
 _The Sun and the Moon will be torn from the sky,_  
 _the Serpent rise up, and the fires blaze on high._  
 _Gods and men stand and fight, one by one they shall die --_  
 _and we are the ones who remember. .'_

When the song ended, Hel looked up at her father and whispered, 'Thank you, father.'

'There are many more songs to sing and we have all the time in the cosmos.' Loki replied. He caught Hel's chin before she hid her shy face under her water silk hair again. 

'Not all prophecies have yet come. You still have to live father, and I shall return you to the world of the living.' Hel grasped onto Loki's hand with her frozen bony ones. 

'So you wish to bring me to the world of the lies and pain, my daughter dearest?' Broken with the dawning betrayal Loki watched his daughter rise from the marble steps. No longer did a young girl stand before the God, but a grown woman, a queen, a praised Goddess who must keep order and would even sacrifice her own happiness for the sake of the order that the cosmos must follow.

'Yes, yes I must. But father, be calm, stay patient, be brave.' Hel spoke in a stern voice as she swiped away Loki's tears.


	5. The Wolf and the Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I decided to add this on... please don't even fuckin' ask.

Across the cosmos, across the mind and matter branches spread that connect every living being together. Through the cycles of time and through the destruction of life the branches of Yggdrasil grow. They are endless and eternal. They reach the golden walls of Valhalla and even the dusty dark realm of Helheim.

On the ash dwell creatures who serve with purpose to the World Tree. On the roots writhe the snakes along with the grey serpent Nidhogg who gnarls on the dead to serve them punishment, those who died from old age and illness. But those who had not yet received judgement still remain in Helheim, until Queen of the Underworld, Hel, decides their fate.

In Niflheim, the land of ice where no soul treads lies Helheim, the realm of the dead. It is a grey wasteland of jutting sharp rocks and black dying trees where the howls of the tormented souls and rumoured to be heard.

There it is, the home of Hel.

Amidst the wastelands stands a towering building which resembles the cathedrals seen on Midgard. It is carved with purpose and every feature is elongated for it to tower over intruders and set fear into their weak hearts. But come closer, look through the stained windows and you will see no icons or alters. There is a Great Hall with black stone carved walls and marble floors. The lights of the torches are reflect on the floors as if on a water surface.

There is cold, and always will be, even with a thousand hearths and the dance of the fire God.

Yule has come and the cycle of the year has ended. The Æsir, Vanir and the mortals sing and drink in the celebration, but the songs of celebration do not end in these light lit realms.

In the halls of the dead warming light has spread. There is sourceless music, singing and laughing. Upon the throne of bones at the head of the hall sits Hel, clad in a silk black dress with gold on her fingers and waist. Her face and figure are perfect and frozen except for she is half rotten. On her lap sits a child, a young boy who couldn't have seen more than ten summers. He is dressed in golden silks and his hair is brown and curled. The boy is looking out into the hall, he is clapping and a smile is playing on his joyful face.

On the marble floors there are two more figures. One is a tall handsome man, black hair and pale skin. Clad like a prince of the Gods, leather greens silks and golds. In his arms he holds a child, no older nor younger than the one in Hel's arms. The prince dances to the music and he sings as the child in his arms laughs and clings to him.

_'Lights on the Yuletree are burning,_   
_Soon our home will be bright,_   
_Fair as the sunlight returning,_   
_Putting the darkness to flight._   
_Shining for us in the longest of nights,_   
_Shining for us in the longest of nights._   
_Voices with jubilant sound,_   
_Laughter and gladness abound,'_

The music stops and the words end, but the father and the son keep on spinning in the Yule dance.

'Father, sing another song, please!' The child from the throne calls out.

'And what song will you ask me to sing?' The God of fire asks as he turns to his other son.

'Sing the song of battle, sing us the song of lifeblood. Thought it praises our foes, you cannot deny its beauty, father.' The half dead queen tells Loki.

'Then I shall sing, only if you join me.' Loki sets his son Vali onto the marble floor who then runs to join his brother at the foot of the throne.

'Of course.' Hel replies. The half dead queen rises from her throne and joins hands with the fire God.

A battle beat echoes from the black stone walls. The fires in the eyes of the two God's became brighter and their grips tighten on each other's clasped hands.

_'Drink, for the wind blows cold and_   
_Drink for The Wolf runs free,_   
_Drink to the ships with the sails like wings and_   
_Drink to the storm-tossed seas,_

_Drink to the lasting nights_   
_and those who warm our beds,_   
_Drink to the mead that warms our hearts_   
_and the cold that clears our head,_

_Drink to the Allfather's Eye_   
_for Odin's sons are we,_   
_Drink to the World-Tree where he hung_   
_and the Runes of Mystery!'_

The two children, Vali and Nari stare at the Gods in wonder and admiration. The fires in the halls burst into large blazes and the shadows behind the pillars quiver and bow.

_'Drink to the truth of steel_   
_and blood that falls like rain,_   
_Drink to Valhalla's golden walls_   
_and to our kinsmen, slain,_

_Drink to the Glory-field_   
_where a man embraces death, and_   
_thank the gods that we live at all_   
_with our joyous dying breath!_

_Drink for the wind blows cold and_   
_Drink for the Wolf runs free_   
_Drink to the ships with the sails like wings_   
_for Odin's sons are we!'_

The song ends and the half dead queen settles back onto her throne but on her frozen face a smile takes place. She watches as her father turns to her two half brothers who still look at their older sibling in wonder.

'Nari, Vali, do you not think that your sister sang beautifully?' Loki asks. The two young boys agree with enthusiasm and glee.

When the Gods look down onto these children they see young warriors that should be. The better trades of Loki, the braver and the kinder. The patient and clever. But they know that the World Tree will never witness their growth that their tales will never be told amongst the mortals. Nor prayers will be weaved for asking for their blessings. For Nari and Vali, the sons of Loki, are dead.

Another cycle has ended and another must begin, but not all remains of the present had yet been cleansed. Ragnarök is to come. Loki Liesmith is free and he has travelled to the dark realm of Helheim of the Goddess of the Death to take his armies to Midgard and lead them into the final battle. 


End file.
